


Rush of Fear

by LexSalica



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Knives, M/M, Minor Violence, Shooting, Shooting Guns, Stabbing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexSalica/pseuds/LexSalica
Summary: Sometimes a small adrenaline rush can't be so bad... except if your friend got shot and you have to save them from bleeding out, while running away from the police.Montparnasse really didn't plan on treating his comrade's wounds, didn't expect having to do anything with wounds, but at least he knows how to bandage a wound...
Relationships: Claquesous & Montparnasse (Les Misérables), Claquesous/Montparnasse (Les Misérables)





	1. A shot too much

**Author's Note:**

> I just need more Montparsous stuff... somewhere. So have it; Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I hope it satisfies your needs!

After another successful attempt of robbing a bank, the Patron-Minette acrobatically stormed out of the building, their pockets and bags filled with new riches. The quarter moon dimly shone onto the streets, giving out practically no light to detect the criminal group easily. Claquesous ran next to the youngest member, Montparnasse, who was carrying a satisfied grin on his slim, pale face.

Even though he was the youngest, he had kept up the pace with everyone, even Claquesous, with ease. His tricks for pickpocketing a stranger without them even noticing are cunning and clever, and his charm of youth only added to getting more of what the dark haired boy wanted.  
Sometimes Claquesous pities the around 19-year-old for having to live a criminal's life, but he doesn't seem to be any kind of upset about it. The only time Montparnasse was somewhat to be pitied was, when he slipped accidentally and got his clothes full of mud and dirty water. For the rest of the day he had then complained about that occurence and had immediately put on a new, very fashionable suit.  
Handsome Clothes; that was the thing Montparnasse cared about the most. He wouldn't pass the opportunity to sneak into a shop and let one or two new clothing pieces slide out with him again. Hell, he'd propably even damn himself if he didn't do that!  
One would never under any circumstances see that dandy wearing something easy; it will always be stylish and well-cared for.

The four of them - Montparnasse, Claquesous, Gueulemer and Babet - soon made a turn into an abandoned dark alleyway, where they stopped to run, listening to the sirens as they continued coming closer. Montparnasse fixed his bowtie with a disgusted frown and took a peek outside of the alleyway. The police was still on the hunt, no doubt. "We should get going", the youngest man said in a lowered, out-of-breath voice, after he had taken a few breaths in and out. Sprinting away like that cost more than enough energy. The rest of Patron-Minette silently agreed to him and they walked further into the alley, which Claquesous actually really enjoyed. The dark was his time, his specialty.

One would normally not see that man out in the daylight, but more in the nighttime, when the street lights are dimly lighting the streets and alleys. Claquesous was especially talented in hiding in the shadows of the deepest, blackest night, not even being seen by the best police officer. Nobody really knows where he goes after a burglary, murder or whatever criminal deed the man has commited - some say, he lives in a hole, coming out at dusk and returning at dawn.  
Neither does anybody know how Claquesous looks like - without his mask, at least. If one ever saw him, he had worn a mask covering half of his face. Why? Was there a bad scar defacing him or did he just not want to be recognized by any means? Not even his own comrades and friends had ever seen what that mask hid beneath it, but they didn't bother to ask anyway. If one tried to take off his mask, there would either be a knife held to their throat or a dagger put into their chest.

As the four of them continued their walk, something only decently audible caught their attention. It were footsteps. Slow, but steady. Catious. Afraid. "Gueulemer, Babet, Montparnasse, let's get away from here", Claquesous ordered in a monotone, but at the same time demanding and worried sounding voice. But not a second after he had spoken those few words, a gunshot was fired and a high-pitched scream filled the air, as a bullet hit Claquesous' shoulder. "FUCK- Guys, get away!", he shouted and Gueulemer immediately followed that order, not so soon after, Babet followed the tall one. Montparnasse stood still and looked at him. "I will not let you die here, Sous."  
Suddenly they noticed a dog barking, the noise grew louder and louder with every second they remained in their place. "Go, Parnasse", he commanded, biting his tounge after a wave of pain struck through his body, going out from the wound on his shoulder. An officer emerged from the shadows, pointing a gun at the two men infront of him, one of them pressing his palm onto the wound that officer had inflicted to him.

Even though one couldn't see his eyes, anyone near him could've felt the tension growing and the sparkles of a hellfire flickering in those eyes shooting at the officer, trying desperately to burn him. Vainly.  
"Hands where we can see them!", the policeman shouted, his face darkened in delight. Who had ever caught members of the Patron-Minette? Nobody. And like that it will stay. That devilish, short-living smirk on the officer's face filled Claquesous with rage and Montparnasse with the urge to slice open his throat.  
The police officer stepped forward, still pointing the gun at them, but in his free hand there was something shiny to be seen, rattling slightly with every step forward. Handcuffs. Of course. Montparnasse scoffed and took Claquesous by the hand, as he wanted to run off, but the policeman fired a shot between him and the other man, making the younger one loosen his grip. The officer captured Claquesous almost immediately, who on the other hand tried kicking him with his feet.  
"Run", the masked man exclaimed, fighting back the officer who had now grabbed his arm and tried to put handcuffs onto his wrists. "Run already!", he repeated, as he realized that the other one wouldn't move, with a painful crack in his voice from all the shouting he did. "Get away from here, you can escape!" But Montparnasse didn't even think about leaving him alone, getting arrested by those pathetic policemen. The boy unobtrusively slides one of his hands down to his belt, where he knew his switchblade was attached to it, detached it as cautiously as he breathed at the moment and with a 'Click' the blade jumped out of the handle.  
In the meantime the cop had already put on the handcuffs successfully, but it seemed to Montparnasse that he put more pressure onto one leg than the other one. Now he himself grew that devilish, excited smile on his face. He made some smooth, slow steps forward at the officer, already picturing him lying on the ground before him, the blood streaming out of a deep cut on his neck. He lifted his hand and without any warning slashed the blade at the policeman's neck, but at that moment the target took a step back and Montparnasse only hit his upper arm, with a deep enough cut to make him hiss and step away, though.

"Come on, Sous!", he called out and grabbed his friend's arm, quickly pulling him with himself. Claquesous stumbled after him for a while, before he finally got used to the speed the young man was running in. His shoulder still hurt like hell and he was not able to but pressure on it, so the blood just continued flowing out of the shotwound. He tried to move it as little as possible, but that was a vain goal. All the corners they made a turn and the lamp posts and other obstacles they had to dodge made it very difficult to not move every part of his body.  
After around ten minutes that felt like an hour of pain, both of them finally got to a stop in a small hut, seemingly not habitated by anyone. Montparnasse pulled down the door handle, but to his disappointment, it was stuck. So he let go of Claquesous for some seconds, taking a step back and kicking in the unstable wooden door. As soon as the door flew open, Montparnasse grabbed Claquesous again and pulled him into the hut. After he had closed the door again, it was completely dark, they couldn't see eachother at all in there.

Both men huffed out of exhaustion, one of them out of pain in addition. Claquesous let himself slide down onto the floor, just sitting there, putting his head back and trying to breath calmly, which didn't work quite well, as his shoulder burned and stinged each time he took a breath in. Montparnasse realized his shaky breath and moved closer to him, sitting down beside his friend and looking at him. "Sous, you'll be okay... As soon as we get to Babet and Gueulemer, Babet will treat your wound, you can do it until then. Yeah?" The shivering man nodded hesitantly and tried to relax, but a new wave of pain shot through his body, making him press his teeth together in order to not scream.  
Suddenly he felt a hand resting on his own hand; soft skin, thin fingers... Claquesous intertwined his fingers with the other one's and closed his eyes tiredly, but as soon as he did that, his heartbeat slowed down a little and Montparnasse saw him smile slightly. "Thank you, Parnasse...", he whispered in a husky voice and breathed in and out, as Montparnasse's thumb brushed over the back of Claquesous' hand. The younger man moved his friend's hand up a little, bowing down and planting a soft, charming kiss on it's back, as someone would do to nobility.  
"Of course, Sous."


	2. May we rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse and Claquesous spend some time in that hut, afterhand finally getting out. Thinking they are safe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, guns, mild cussing, wounds lol

After they had stayed in the hut for what seemed like hours, even though it had propably only been around thirty minutes, both men were still clasping their hands together. The temperature had slightly decreased as the time went by and Montparnasse was shivering slightly, as he had taken off his jacket to bandage Claquesous` shoulder with it, feeling a sting of internal pain as he thought about that piece of garment getting soaked with thick blood. He quickly abandoned that thought though shaking his head slightly and let out a disappointed sigh.

"I'm sorry...", the older man sitting at the wall suddenly chuckled within a whisper and nodded towards his shoulder, indicating that the now bloody jacket was still tied around the wound, being the only thing keeping the blood from flowing out of his shoulder. Montparnasse scoffed and looked away slightly, as to not catch the sight of his clothing being ruined, as he replied: "Eh... It's alright, I guess. Stopping you from blood loss is more important-" He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath of regret and letting it out again. "It's... more important than... clothes...", he finally managed to get out of his mouth after some seconds, however, still hesitantly. Claquesous suddenly began to laugh quietly as Montparnasse said that, while the other one grumbled. "Stop laughing, Sous! You should feel honored, I'm putting you above my clothes!" "Yeah, yeah, sorry, Parnasse- I'm just-", the wounded responded still chuckling, then hissing as he had accidently moved his shoulder because of laughing. Montparnasse quickly reacted to that worriedly: "You good?" "Yeah, I'm good... don't worry. It's not like this is my first shotwound", Claquesous replied with a small grin visible under his mask, at which the younger one let out a sigh, the concern didn't fade away. "Maybe we should really get you to Babet soon. The cops are propably gone, too, so it will be safe to go and I don't want your wound to get infected by anything." His comrade breathed in and out calmly and smiled half-sarcastically as he spoke: "Stop worrying about me so much, Parnasse, I'll be fine." "I know you'll be fine, but I don't want you to be in pain, understood? So we will get out of this shit of a shelter and get you to Babet, yeah?", the dandy harshly responded at Claquesous' statement, leaving the hurt one slightly baffled at the tone of his voice, so he said no more. "Come on, get up, Sous", Montparnasse commanded a bit softer now, after breathing in and out to calm himself. He stood up by himself, reaching out a hand to the still sitting one, who gladly accepted it and got up, too, standing beside his friend now.  
For some reason the warmth of Montparnasse's hand was way more comfortable then it should have been to Claquesous. It felt like his own hands have been put into cold water for a long time and the younger one's hand was the fire crackling close to them, relishing heat and warmth. For a heartbeat the masked man didn't even notice the small wave of pain strucking through his arm, as if the warmth alleviated it, made it disappear magically. Unconsciously Claquesous tightened the grip on Montparnasse's hand, not letting go of it and the younger man realized that, looking at Claquesous with a confused expression, making him finally loosen the clasp, obviously slightly embarrassed about what he had done, but if someone could see behind his mask, there would've been a spark of disappointment to be percieved. But nobody was capable of doing so, as the mask covered half his face almost completely. The only thing that was recognizable were his chin and mouth, and the tip of his nose, everything else was invisible to humanity; to his acquaintance, to his comrades, to his friends. Not even Gueulemer, Babet or Montparnasse - exactly, not even Montparnasse - had ever seen his whole face unmasked, even though he propably trusted those three the most. But then again, who could be trusted in this world? Everybody could betray you in just on breath.

So Claqueous decided not to trust anybody. He didn't share his secrets, he didn't talk about his life before becoming a criminal, he didn't tell anyone about his family. No-one had an idea of who he had been previously, no-one dared to ask who he had been, either. So they just let him do his things, commiting crimes with him at night and rarely seeing him in the light of the day. 

They didn't speak another word about Claquesous having held Montparnasse's hand for longer than he was supposed to when they opened the creaky hut door and cautiously looked for remaining officers, which were nowhere to be found, so the men stepped out of their shelter completely and hid in the shadows with which they practically blended together. Through small alleyways and dark streets the comrades made their way through the city, their only guiding light being the dim shimmer of the quarter moon.  
All of a sudden there was a big crash to be heard from further away and although it wasn't anywhere near the two criminals, it still startled them, making them stand still for some seconds. Both of them didn't dare to breath for a while, as they waited for something else to happen. "Where are you, Patron-Minette?", a rough voice shouted and the clang of metall being pushed around was audible to the men, which was way closer then the previous sound. "They're coming close", Claquesous whispered hastily and grabbed Montparnasse by the sleeve, pulling him away and starting to speed up slightly, now an then biting his tongue in order to not make a sound because of the pain in his shoulder. The pulled just followed him quickly, the stranger's voice still calling them. They didn't speak intimidatingly or angry, but in a calm tone, filled with malicious joy, just waiting for their prey to be trapped. They seemed to walk slowly, going after the criminals, enjoying this... hunt. But they wouldn't catch those members of Patron-Minette. Never. 

After a while of quietly running, Claquesous turned to Montparnasse and leaned against a wall next to him. "I need a rest, this wound is killing me...", he sighed and scoffed slightly, earning an unsure nod from his friend. "I guess, that would be for the better, huh?-" And as soon as he had finished, as soon as he wanted to rest with Claquesous in this alley hiding in the dark, the shot of a gun was to be heard.


End file.
